The Devil's Russian Beauty

by Ana Lee Kennedy

  “Ma’am,” he said, his voice seductive. He walked closer.

  Something about his tone stoked an ember of desire deep inside Bernadette. What the hell? What was wrong with her?

  “Gorgeous day for a gorgeous woman, isn’t it?”

  Almost to her, the man continued smiling. Unable to look away, Bernadette continued staring up at him. Flustered and uncomfortable, she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from his. The world spun, and for an instant, she thought she was going to plant face-first on the sidewalk.

  “Ma’am?”

  She blinked to find his hand encircling her wrist, his thumb stroking the skin on the inner part of it.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “You looked like you might faint.”

  “I’m…” She blinked rapidly several times. Her mind, foggy and disoriented, gradually cleared. The cool autumn breeze brought her back to herself, and the sunshine warmed her face. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  He nodded, releasing her, then jaywalked across the street to disappear down a narrow alley.

  Oddly shaken, she returned to the pickup.

  Luella looked at her curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking,” her friend said, “what was that all about with the woman in the red dress?”

  “I’m not sure how to explain it, Luella.” She accepted her purse that Puppy held out to her. “She needs a friend.”

  “She used to be one of Crow’s sweetbutts,” Puppy said. “Isn’t she with the River Rebels now?”

  “Yeah,” Bernadette answered. She smoothed her hand over her wrist.

  “Friendship might get her ass kicked,” Puppy said.

  “Well, if anyone asks”—Bernadette inclined her head toward Callie May—“that shawl was raffled off and Daffi won it.”

  “Works for me,” Callie May said and hopped up into the bed of the pickup.

  Puppy and Luella shook their heads and laughed softly.

  Feeling wonderful, Bernadette climbed in the truck cab and scooted to the middle. Tingling in her wrist forced her to rub at it again.

  Puppy settled beside her and slammed the door. “Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, you go and surprise me.”

  “Is that bad?” Bernadette worriedly met her friend’s big puppy-dog eyes.

  “Hell, no. It’s a good thing.” Giving her a one-armed hug, Puppy added, “You’re just full of surprises, that’s all.”

  * * *

  Mondays…damn how Phil hated them. It seemed like every Monday the dispatcher was always in a pissy mood. Probably because the guy was known for getting shitface drunk every weekend, then took out his hangover on all the truck drivers, making the first day of each work week intolerable.

  He focused on the winding pavement, enjoying the cool breeze on his face and the deepening blue of the sky as the daylight began to wane. Soon, he entered Rebellion and turned at the square, heading toward McDonald’s for his coffee. As always, Kadie worked second shift and had his coffee ready before he reached the counter. It was busy as customers filed in for an easy supper, so to Kadie’s disappointment, she was unable to flirt with him. With a smile, Phil nodded his thanks and headed for a seat by the huge plate-glass windows in the front of the restaurant.

  He hadn’t seen a particular blue Ford Fusion anywhere in the parking lot, but that didn’t mean the leggy blonde hadn’t parked on the street and walked over. However, once he surveyed both dining rooms, it was clear Daffodil wasn’t there that evening.

  Fuck. He’d been fantasizing about her for weeks. He hadn’t seen her again since he’d followed her to the River Rebels’ MC, and now that she wasn’t here, it made his shitty Monday even shittier. He’d told Frank what he’d overheard her talking about with her friend and that he’d done a quick reconnaissance and had seen huge crates that could have been used to transport people. Frank reported it to Deputy Sheriff Willamscot, but the deputy had said they were already keeping an eye on the River Rebels.

  Then Phil had spent his past weekend with Frank transporting the latest Nightshade Wolf to Indianapolis, his entire weekend wasted—well, not wasted, exactly—but he never got a chance to relax before having to return to work. Now irked and his irritation mounting, he sipped his coffee and watched vehicles idle through the drive-through, his thoughts returning to the blonde.

  He hoped Daffodil was all right.

  * * *

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Daffi slapped the steering wheel with both hands, then instantly regretted it as pain sang up her fingers and into her knuckles. “Why won’t you start, you piece of shit!”

  When her car had just shut off without warning, she’d managed to coast it onto a pull-off spot where she often saw an old man who sold melons and brown eggs during the summer months. Fear squeezed her throat. If she wasn’t at the MC by six p.m., Ezra would be pissed. She rummaged in her purse, found her cell phone and called his number.

  “Daffodil?” his voice caressed her ear and inspired her to shiver in dread.

  “Hi, Ezra. My car died.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the pull-off where that old man sells his stuff.”

  “I’ll send someone up there.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Yep.” The line clicked.

  She sat there fidgeting, cussing and praying her stupid car’s mechanical issue wouldn’t result in Ezra beating the shit out of her again. After the last one he’d given her, it had taken nearly two weeks for the bruising to fade.

  Well, at least she was warm, and the view of the brilliant fall leaves painting the hillsides and valley soothed her a little. She reached behind her and picked up the gift tote Bernadette Kelly had given her with the shawl in it. Daffi didn’t have the guts to wear the garment—and oh how she wanted to—but Ezra was growing more and more unpredictable and she wasn’t willing to answer his unwanted questions or risk him taking the shawl from her out of pure spite.

  She pulled it out of the bag and spread it over her torso, reveling in the colors that mimicked the view beyond the windshield. The gold beading glittered prettily, the colors even brighter against the trim. She fingered the yarn in all its intricate loop patterns, marveling at its softness. Maybe one day she’d have enough money to buy one of that girl’s coats too. They were even lined and she used bright, sparkling buttons… The idea fizzled and died. She knew better than to pine for anything. It always ended in disappointment and a hollow ache that took forever to go away.

  In the twilight, a lone light began its trek up the hill. Knowing it was probably the man Ezra had sent after her, she quickly stuffed the shawl back into its tote and shoved it under her seat. The light crawled around two more turns, disappeared, then lit up the area just around the bend from where she sat. She got out of the Ford and began waving as a motorcycle appeared. The rider slowed and drove over on to the pull-off area.

  Her heart sank. Why couldn’t Ezra have sent Stickman? At least she wouldn’t have to worry about him getting out of hand too much. This guy, Jackknife, was from another chapter, Lexington, Kentucky, if she remembered. He was rough, just out of prison for murder, so he’d transferred up here to get out of the law’s eyes. Jackknife kept a wicked look in his eye and had already beaten the hell out of two of the MC’s biggest guys.

  He was a huge, muscled bastard, and she was alone.

  “Daffi, right?” he drawled.

  “Yes.” Trepidation nudged her.

  “What happened with your car?” He put the kickstand down, turned off the bike, then dismounted.

  “It just shut off and wouldn’t start again.” She hated the faint tremor in her voice.

  “I’ll take a look. Get in and pop the hood. When I tell you, try starting the engine.”

  She avoided looking him in the face and scrambled into the car. After tugging on the hood release, she rolled the window down, then waited, wishing the earthquakes of fear shaking through her would subside. No one lived for a mile in either direction. Maybe Jackknife would be content
to tinker with her car and, if he couldn’t get it to start, he’d simply take her back to the MC without incident.

  Fat chance.

  “Try starting it,” he hollered.

  She turned the key, but nothing happened.

  “Again.”

  She did as she was told.

  He straightened and let the hood slam shut. “The alternator has probably shit itself.” He motioned for her to get out of the car. “Lock it up and I’ll take you back to the club. Someone can tow it later.”

  Could she get off that easily? Unwilling to leave her shawl behind, she left it just the same, figuring it would be safer in her Ford than it would be clenched in her hand on the back of a Harley.

  Daffi shouldered her purse, then hit the button to engage all the door locks. With her keys clenched in her fingers, she exited the car and shut the driver’s door with her other hand. She looked up and found Jackknife directly in front of her, his gaze pinned to her cleavage and a cruel smile twisting his mouth. The guy might have been handsome if not for the coldness in his crystalline-blue eyes. His coal-black hair intensified the paleness of his eyes, his expression cool, calculating.

  Fuck. I might as well bend over and spread ’em. She bit her lower lip and tried to sidestep him, but as expected, he grasped her upper arm and spun her around, pinning her so they were torso to torso.

  “Where you goin’, baby?” His Kentucky accent thickened as he tried sweet-talking her. “It’s quiet and no one’s around.”

  “It’s nice that you’re so observant.” Her fear earthquakes reached a 9.0 on her Richter scale. Why did she always have to fire missiles out of her mouth whenever she was threatened or in uncomfortable situations?

  Jackknife stared hard at her, a frown marring the smooth skin between his eyebrows. “You making fun of me?”

  “No, it was a compliment.” For the love! Where the hell was the off switch for her mouth?

  But Jackknife took her seriously and grinned, revealing a gold-capped tooth. He gripped either side of her dress and pulled it up over her hips. Shoving her over the hood, he whistled. “Fuck, I love it when pussies are dressed up in thong panties.”

  He pressed his thighs against the backs of hers, followed by unfastening his jeans, the zipper lowering almost thunderous in the quiet evening. Nausea claimed Daffi. Her heart hammered so hard that she saw white spots flitting in her vision. She couldn’t stand living like this anymore, couldn’t tolerate being someone’s property, and definitely could not bear to be touched by another jackass who thought she had no other purpose than to provide a place to shove his cock.

  “Hoo-whee! What a great ass, and you look like you’re all bare down there too. And those red-as-hell heels… I bet Ezra can’t fuck you enough. Seems like Stickman enjoys you, too, doesn’t he?” He placed his hands on her waist and dug his fingers into her skin, holding her in place as he positioned the head of his cock at her opening. “I’m going to enjoy every second I fuck you, baby.”

  The instant he started to push into her pussy, something snapped inside Daffi. She jerked away so suddenly that it took him by surprise.

  “What the fuck!” Anger twisted his features into a murderous mask. “You’re nothing but a whore. Get over here!”

  On impulse, Daffi swung her purse across his face, taking him off guard. The metal clasp caught him across the mouth, slicing his upper lip. Blood welled and trickled over his lips to his chin to disappear in his bushy, black beard. He touched his wound. At the sight of blood, his expression transformed into a black storm that was about to strike her dead if she didn’t think fast. Daffi kicked him as hard as she could in the groin. Pain exploded in the top of her foot, then all her weight on one stiletto caused the heel to break and she went down in the dirt flat on her back to find herself staring up at the silhouette of leafy tree branches overhead.

  Jackknife let out an agonizing howl. Instead of falling to the ground or at least dropping to his knees, he merely palmed his exposed gonads with one hand and lunged at her. She rolled to the side, dusting flying up her nose, but as he reached her, his boots kicked up even more dust, blinding her.

  “You dirty bitch! I’ll make sure you regret this!”

  In response to the grainy debris in her eyes, tears flooded them. Unable to see, she gasped as he sank his fingers into her hair and jerked—hard. Fiery pain seared her scalp. She screamed, her hands going to where Jackknife had hold of her locks. He hauled her to her feet, but with one stiletto broken, she couldn’t stabilize herself to fight him. He shook her like a rag doll, disorientating her until she didn’t know which direction was left or right. Further torture assaulted her scalp, and she screamed again. Then her feet left the earth. Suddenly airborne, she crashed into the Ford’s hood.

  Rolling to one side, Daffi flung herself on the ground and landed in a cluster of scratchy ironweed, sticks and small limbs.

  “I’d kill you know if it wasn’t for having to answer to Ezra!” Jackknife roared from the front of the Ford.

  For weeks now she’d been telling herself she didn’t care what happened to her anymore, that life wasn’t worth living if she had no free will. Whatever had broken in her earlier now surged to the forefront with determination. If he was going to kill her, then she was going to go out fighting. She sat up. Through tears, she spotted a limb that looked sound and long enough to swing with some well-placed impact. Daffi grabbed it in both hands, found it easily removed from the undergrowth and stood with her back mostly to Jackknife. She kicked off her other heel and waited.

  “Come here, bitch!”

  He pushed through the weeds toward her, and she swung the limb as though she was going for a homerun in Yankee Stadium. The heavy-duty branch struck him across the left ear and jaw with a resounding crack that wafted out over the hollow yawning below them. Bark flew into the air. Jackknife issued a loud “oomph!” and stumbled back a couple steps before losing his footing in the weeds.

  Chapter Eight

  Phil didn’t know what had possessed him to ride over to the River Rebels’ hangout. It wasn’t like he could ride in there and demand to see Daffodil. All he could do was sit on the hilltop and stare down at their compound while wondering if she was inside and okay.

  The ride out past Laings toward the Ohio River was worth it, though. As autumn marched toward full color, the Appalachians wore a cloak of brightness Phil hadn’t seen for a long time. The last five or six autumns had been too dry to stimulate much color, but this year certainly made up for it. With the sunset minutes away, the temperature was steadily dropping. It wouldn’t be long before everyone had to turn their furnaces up, stoke wood burners and throw a couple more blankets on their bed. That also meant there were only a handful of good riding days left. The thought of having to garage his Harley socked Phil in the gut. Whenever he got the urge to ride and couldn’t because of the weather, the long, cold months seemed twice as lengthy.

  Determined to enjoy his time out on his bike, he maneuvered a series of sharp S curves. A straight stretch of about a quarter mile appeared, but his headlight caught the glint of a parked car’s taillights and a chrome bumper. Off to the side by the ravine, a blonde suddenly stood and swung something. He recognized the Ford Focus and Daffi. As he slowed the Harley, he caught sight of a big man with a bushy, black beard moving toward her from the front of the car. She swung what looked like a sturdy limb about six feet long and caught the guy alongside his head. The man staggered back, flailing his arms, and went down in the tall ironweed skirting the wide pull-off.

  He slowed and pulled off behind the Ford, quickly shutting off the bike. He put the kickstand down and had barely secured the Harley before he leaped from it stand behind his leggy blonde.

  “Hey,” Phil said, alerting her to his presence. “Daffodil, you okay?”

  She spun in his direction, eyes wide, dirt caking the corners of them, and tear tracks down her cheeks. Her dress was hiked around her waist, her lacy, black thong revealed to the world. Scratche
s from the ironweed crisscrossed her arms, thighs and neck. Slowly, recognition lit her face and she threw herself at him.

  Phil caught her in his arms. A fierce sense of protectiveness claimed him, both shocking and thrilling him. She trembled as if she were a tree in the center of a hurricane.

  The big guy stood and faced them. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “I might ask the same question,” Phil replied.

  “Walk away, gearhead. She’s not your concern.”

  “She obviously doesn’t want to go with you.”

  The biker drew himself to his full height, probably a good four inches taller than Phil’s six foot three. And, guessing from the guy’s thick build, he was at least 50 to 60 pounds heavier than Phil was too.

  “Last warning, fucker.” He took a couple steps in their direction, the fading light revealing blood dried on his upper lip and leaking from the spot just in front of his ear. “Leave now while you’re still able to walk.”

  “See, I’ve never been one to listen very well. Always got to try myself.” He hugged Daffodil, who responded by pressing closer, tightening her fingers in his T-shirt. “Take that limb and go stand by my Harley.”

  She nodded and obediently wiggled between him and the car, then made her way over to his bike.

  “You’re a dumbass, know that?” the guy said.

  “Maybe I am, but at least I don’t go around beating the hell out of women. What did she do to you?”

  “Wanted me a piece of ass.” The biker tucked himself into his jeans and zipped up. “She decided to turn all pious on me. You know how it is with sheep. You gotta make ’em mind, show ’em who’s boss and keep ’em in their place.”